Switch

house. The one she'd lived in with Leo and Arty for the

past three years, not one of the many in which she'd raised

me. A brick row home sandwiched between two others

and within a stone's throw of the railroad tracks, it wasn't

anything like my dad's house. Yet inside the good smels of

something baking tickled my nose instead of expensive

scented candles, and the hug I got from my mom felt

natural and not forced.

'Arty's upstairs getting ready,' she said. 'I told him he couldn't wear his Batman costume to the movies, but…

wel.'

'I don't care if he wears his Batman costume.'

My mom sighed and shook her head. 'You're sure?'

Once upon a time I'd have been appaled at the thought,

but distance seemed to have melowed me. Or time,

maybe. I shrugged.

'What's it to me if the kid's happy?'

I couldn't decipher her look, which only lasted a second as

she turned to shout up the stairs. 'Arty! Paige is here!'

'Where's Leo?' I'd always liked him, even if he did laugh

too loud at truly stupid television shows and wear offensive

novelty T-shirts.

Again with the look I couldn't interpret. 'He's not home.'

'Obviously.' She didn't return my smile, but before I could ask her if something was wrong, Arty bounded down the

stairs. 'Hey.'

stairs. 'Hey.'

'Pow!' Arty leaped in front of me with his hands on his

hips. His brown eyes glinted from behind the mask.

Clearly he'd had no intention of listening to our mom. 'I'm

Batman!'

'I see that. Are you ready to go, Batman?'

He launched himself into me, his arms and legs wrapping

around me. 'Yay! Yes! Yay for Paige!'

'Good luck with him. Today was somebody's birthday at

school. He's had a lot of sugar.'

'Oh, joy. Put a sweatshirt on, shorty. The movie theater

might be chily.' I squeezed him back, tight. He smeled

like baby shampoo and candy. I could handle even a

sugar-infused Arty.

My mom tried to press a ten-dolar bil into my hand as

Arty struggled into his jacket, but I refused to take it.

'Mom, no.'

'For popcorn.'

'I said no.' I'd been taler than her since seventh grade, but

'I said no.' I'd been taler than her since seventh grade, but looking down at her now it seemed strange to be staring at

the top of her head. She'd starting graying early but had

always kept up the color. Now I saw half an inch of white

here and there along her part.

I noticed lines in the corners of her eyes, too, when she